Constable Masen of the RCMP
by shouldbecleaning
Summary: There, standing at attention in the middle of the platform, was an absolutely perfect representation of a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer in full red dress uniform. A man dedicated to upholding the law, selfless and humble can be quite attractive. However, this man was sheer beauty before he donned the official mantle.
1. Chapter 1

_**Just over a year ago, a plea was made on Facebook in the No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club for a Mountie-Ward akin to When Calls The Heart. I hadn't read the book or seen the series but being the good Canadian girl I am (one who dabbles in period pieces anyway) I decided to give it a whirl. I hopped over to IMDB and read the synopsis of the series. I then plotted and planned, while at the same time arranging to travel by train from Toronto back to Halifax with son. The thirty hour train trip was a great inspiration, so this little story was started soon after. I still hadn't read the books or watched the show until many months later when bored at work. Netflix is a dangerous place for there are far too many plot bunnies running around. I was horrified to find so many similarities to what I had written and the show, and therefore mostly likely, to the books. I watched about five episodes and then stopped to finish the story my way. My many thanks and apologies to Janette Oke for what I have done here. I claim no rights to Twilight or When Calls The Heart, but I have taken many, many, many liberties with both for fun.**_

 _ **The ever patient Beachcomberlc performed her magic on this story, slogging through far too many Canadian-isms for her Yankee heart to bear. I would be lost without her and I owe her much more than just thanks. Darling IpsitaC77 made a beautiful banner for the story, one of her best yet. This story is already complete at nine chapters and will post every three days, giving me plenty of time to finish Uncredited (next week).**_

 _ **Thank you for reading.**_

 _ **Chapter 1**_

 _In a dusty attic, Toronto, Ontario, present day. A young lady, fifteen and bored, roots through box after box, trying to find something to amuse herself with while a storm rages and the power is out. She finds a small book and a soft place to sit near a few stout candles and begins to read. A book plate on the flyleaf reads; Property of Isabella Marie Swan, 1927._

 **Dear Diary,**

You will have to forgive my handwriting. The motion of the train makes it difficult to maintain good penmanship. Thankfully, I had the foresight to pack several pencils in my carryall as well as this little book.

Well Diary, I did it. I finally escaped Mother's clutches, albeit temporarily. I am enroute to the small town of Kenora to teach for three months. I was so overjoyed when I received the post, Mother threatened to dose me with cod liver oil and send me to bed. She and I fought for hours before Father finally gave me his permission. I don't know what he said to her behind closed doors to get her to change her mind(nor do I want to know), but whatever it was, I am very glad. She insisted on purchasing an entire new wardrobe for me and for her, but I wasn't allowed to tell Father about that. I tried to protest, but she would have none of it. I did not need a bevy of new dresses when teaching at a small, backwater school in the north full of the children of immigrants and miners, but Mother has always gotten her way. Besides, the list of rules and regulations was very clear on my clothing choices, muted and demure colours, as well as my comportment while I am teaching. By and large, they should be very easy rules to follow, especially not being seen about town squired by men. I've no interest in a rough and tumble backwoodsman any more than I have interest in the dandies my mother parades before me on a regular basis. I just know that as soon as I get back to Kingston I will have to choose a husband from one on her list of approved men.

I fear that Royce King is at the top of that list. He may be at the top of the list of every matron in society for their daughters. The bank his father owns is bigger and more profitable than any other in town and is rumoured to be bigger even than some of the ones in Ottawa or Toronto. However, I druther lose the use of my legs than to marry one such as him. He's a smarmy, odious letch who smells of Sen-Sen and raging halitosis.

I know I will have to settle down at some point, marry and raise children, but I want a grand adventure first. I yearn for a bit of excitement to look back on and thrilling stories to tell my children. Mother doesn't understand. She married the man her parents wanted, and she's done nothing of any interest in her life. She wasn't permitted to be her own woman, but it is a new era. King George V is our monarch and William Lyon Mackenzie King is our Prime Minister. Times have changed. It's a new century and I want to have some fun in my life before I'm too old. The fact that I went to normal school and got my teaching certificate was a fight unto itself. Mother objected, seeing it as a waste of time and money to further my education. Father convinced her, somehow; I suspect the trips to Montreal for spring shopping had something to do with her relenting. Mother fumes like a teapot every time I leave the house, even though I'm either at the library helping with literacy classes or at the Immigrant Association Centre. From the way she behaves, one would think I was at a pool hall or dance hall selling myself for ten cents a dance. The only activity of mine she approves of is helping at the Church's crèche. It's an appropriate charitable activity for a young lady of my status and breeding and will aid in my procuring a good match or suitable husband, in her words.

I was so overjoyed when they wrote me for the post in Kenora. It was only short-term, but it's a real teaching position. Mother nearly fainted when I told her. She's of the belief that I'm journeying to the _Wild West_ to be ravaged by _Savages_ the moment I step off the train. Kenora is a perfectly civilized place, or so I have read. Why, just some years ago they changed the name from the awful sounding Rat Portage to the lovely, lyrical Kenora when they incorporated the town. Sure, there is no proper society and most likely little culture, but I can help provide some of that. I will have a school to myself and my very own students to mold for three whole months. I can only hope it is enough time to teach them as much as I want. Who knows how inadequate their schooling has been to this point? Their teacher, Mrs. Evenson, who I'm sure is a fine pedagogue, shattered her leg, the poor dear. She'll be unable to leave her house for months, so I am to double as her housemate as well, in exchange for room and board. I plan to donate my salary back to the school to buy the latest supplies. I'm sure they're faring as well as they can, but there have been so many innovations and improvements in education over the past few years; I'm sure Mrs. Evenson has not been able to keep up. I will do everything I can to get them into the modern world in the short time I'm there.

We are pulling into the station in Toronto now. More tomorrow, dear diary.

 **Dear Diary,**

Although I was at first reluctant, I'm glad I listened to Mother's tirade and booked a sleeper car rather than use the coach ticket the North Western Board of Education provided. The night was uncomfortable enough in a berth, I could not imagine having to spend the night upright in a seat with all those other passengers. The train steward even found a matron to attend me and my needs. I have to say the tiny bathroom, and you will have to forgive the coarse nature of this passage, it a feat of engineering. The sink has hot and cold running water and the lavatory flushes, albeit very loudly. The entire compartment is smaller than the smallest of rooms in our house. In fact, I believe even the servants' closets are larger, but it has almost every amenity I could ask for. For an almost forty hour journey, that is. I could never imagine going as far as British Columbia via train. Mind, it would be a beautiful trip, to be sure, but I fear that might just be too much adventure. Even for me.

I have never been so scared or thrilled as to be on my own in the big city of Toronto. I had a four-hour layover to change trains and more than enough time for a good meal before reboarding. The matron accompanied me as well as a few other lone female travellers to a quaint cafe for luncheon. It was perfectly lovely fare, simple but toothsome, a nice last meal before the unknown wilds of the west. The streets were teeming with both pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages, with the occasional automobile as well. I remember well the day Father brought his automobile home. The speed was exhilarating, like riding a horse at full gallop, but without the jarring motion. There are not many cars in Kingston, so I was a bit shocked to see so many in Toronto. Perhaps I listened to Mother too much and adopted her prejudices about Canada's biggest city. I didn't find it filthy and ripe with beggars at all like she said it would be. Union Station is grand and the buildings around it were very tall; some looked to be ten storeys or more, although it was difficult to say for sure in the bright noon sun as we walked to and from dinner.

After the chatter of the girls at dinner and the bustle of the city, I was glad to be back in my room and alone in the quiet. The steward had arranged my bed and left the upper berth locked so I wouldn't feel crammed in. I am awfully glad I'm not losing my single room status until about an hour from now. When we stop in Sudbury and take on more passengers I'm to become hostess to another. Having to share a very tiny room overnight with a stranger is much more intimate than I prefer. I will have to accommodate someone for the day, however. It might add another layer to the adventure, meeting this new young lady.

Sleeping was odd. The motion of the train was soothing, but the bed was so narrow, I was afraid I would tumble out if I were to turn over without caution. I woke frequently, but slept well and awoke to the steward's knock feeling rested and content. It was delightful to be awoken with a small pot of hot tea. I could feel the heat of my own blush when I opened the door to take the tray from him. I was scandalously under-clothed with only my nightgown, wrapper and underthings. I'm certain the steward could have cared less about my state of dress, having mostly likely seen guests in all manner of undress, but still, I've never been so glad to be plain of face than this morning. If I had been a beautiful woman or had a shapely form, the steward might have noticed or tried to flirt.

I have more than enough time to finish this entry and wash and dress for the day.

I'm still so very excited, diary. I'm very glad I have you on my journey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Goodness, you people make my shrivelled old heart sing with joy. Thank you. I'm so glad you are enjoying this little slice of Canadiana. If you have the time or inclination, jump over to youtube and look for a short video of The Musical Ride to see for yourself the pageantry of the event.**

 **Beachcomber woke up extra early today to sort out several errors my chubby fingers left behind. Yet another reason to love her and thank her.**

 **Let's get a glimpse of Edward, shall we? Thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Dear Diary,**

I now have the most interesting, intriguing pair of ladies sharing my cabin. When I depart in Kenora they get to have the room all to themselves until they reach their destination in Vancouver. Alice and Rosalie are sisters and the most unlikely pair ever. Rosalie is a tall, blond beauty with a ready smile and easy charm. Alice is decidedly quirky, very small both in height and stature. Rosalie is dressed in a lovely travelling outfit of pale blue. She would fit in with Mother's society ladies much better than I ever could. Alice, honestly, dresses like a gypsy. She's dusty and ragged, but ever so cheerful one can't help ignore her dress and be taken with the girl. Their father owns several small mines in the Sudbury area and has 'pots of money' to quote Alice. I was shocked. One doesn't usually discuss such things with old friends, let alone brand new acquaintances. They are headed to British Columbia to work, or rather learn at an artists' colony before taking husbands. Their parents were eccentric enough to allow them to go. Rosalie, for all her refined grace and beauty, is a woodcarver and wants to learn how to carve totem poles, of all things. Alice is a painter, poet, and wants to get lost in the mountains in order to become one with nature.

I could only imagine the apoplectic fit Mother would have listening to some of their tales. I must remember to give them our address and invite them to stay at their earliest convenience.

Our cabin quickly became a bohemian dressing room as Rose and Alice raided my trunks and toyed with my clothes. They very generously gifted me several shawls to add to my serviceable dresses. Rose and I traded lace collars and within a few hours of knowing them, my wardrobe was greatly improved. I will be the most fashionable girl in Kenora, no doubt, even keeping within the rules set out for me by the school board.

The girls are napping now, but it is almost time for luncheon. I've asked the porter to bring a cart to the cabin as a surprise treat for the girls. I really hope I will be able to keep in contact with these girls, if for no other reason than their humour and gaiety. I will remind myself later to ensure they have my address, both in Kenora and back home in Kingston.

 **Dear Diary,**

Alice and Rose have gone to the lounge car to leave me quiet to pack alone. Night has just started to fall and it's left me a bit melancholy. The steward just announced our approach to Thunder Bay and I will have to say goodbye to my new friends. It has been a wonderful day with them and I know we shall be lifelong friends once we are all settled. It may have to be a long distance pen pal relationship, but it will have to suffice.

I have to change to a much smaller train to get to Kenora, but with only a few more hours to go in my journey, the change shall be exciting rather than bothersome. This next train is what is known as a Whistle Stop or Milk Run, I have learned from the steward. There are few roads and even fewer vehicles in this part of the province. Horse and buggy or dog sled is used to carry goods from one place to another. We've only a few stops prior to Kenora to exchange items. I'll bid my goodbyes to the girls and continue with you, dear diary, once I'm settled on the next train.

 **Dear Diary,**

With a heavy heart, I said goodbye to my new friends. I'm feeling forlorn and the only thing lifting my spirits is the view from my window. This is a much smaller train car and I have the most ingenious table on which to write. The forest is so thick and imposing I feel dwarfed somehow. Every once in a while there is a burst of colour from a tree starting to turn to fall or a patch of wildflowers along the track's edge. I so wish we were going slowly enough to pick a few as we pass them, but the train keeps thundering along. It won't be long until we are there. The sun is still setting. I can see shades of orange and crimson occasionally through the trees.

The conductor just passed through to let us know we are coming up to a small town just outside of Kenora called Vermillion Bay. How very aptly named it is during a sunset. This glorious natural world in which we live is a wonder and I'm thankful to be able to experience it.

 **Dear Diary,**

I have so much to tell you I don't know if I'll be able to get it all out in one night or if I'll have enough ink. Mrs. Evenson is a hoot. Her home, while smaller than what I'm used to, is lovely. My room is comfortable and I'm very happy with all the arrangements. It's a picture perfect little cottage. The once bright red paint has now faded to a warm rusty shade. There are hints of scroll work on the porch and the upstairs window eave, but it's not fussy or too much. Just little bits here and there. The main front window is bayed with four panes. The porch could do with a lick of paint, but it's wide and looks like a comfortable spot to wile away a summer's afternoon. Due to her injury, Esme has had to take the guest bedroom for herself downstairs leaving the second floor for just myself. I'm in the smaller room at the front, with the pretty window. The chimney from the parlour fire runs just along the wall where my bed is, so the bed will be very toasty every night when I go to sleep. No need for a bed warmer or hot water bottle. The paper on the walls has gay blue flowers; forget-me-nots, I think. Another larger bedroom and a half-bath make up the rest of the second storey.

The day after tomorrow I'll go to the school and begin setting up for the year. Mrs. Evenson, who keeps insisting I call her by her given name, Esme, has a very well thought-out lesson plan for me to use, but is also willing to give me some leeway. I will be adding more history, literature and general world knowledge to the curriculum. Her doctor has stated that due to her advanced age (she told me she's forty-two), she should not teach until after the new year. She's fit to be tied and angry with him, but won't argue to his face. There is some sort of other discord between them. It may take some finesse and effort, but I will find out what it is. I do love a good mystery.

Now, to the crux of the matter and a juicy mystery in and of itself—my arrival in Kenora and the Mountie. My goodness, dear diary, the Mountie.

The sun was just a tiny dome of crimson on the horizon when we pulled into the station. I pressed my head to the window to get a better look at the station. One can learn quite a bit about a town from the train station, I have come to understand from this journey. Kenora station is very clean, tidy, and well-kept. The first impression bodes well for the town itself. Thunder Bay's station was in very ill repair and unkempt.

There, standing at attention in the middle of the platform, was an absolutely perfect representation of a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer in full red dress uniform. The Mounties at home only wear the red on formal occasions; parades, funerals, the Musical Rides, etc. As my car passed him, I was struck by the beauty of the man. I'm certain his profession aided in his beauty. A man dedicated to upholding the law, selfless and humble can be quite attractive. However, this man was sheer beauty before he donned the official mantle. His face was perfection, chiseled by an old master, with a strong jaw, patrician nose, full pink lips, a firm brow and piercing eyes. From his glossy riding boots, snug black trousers rose, tight to the knee but ballooning out to accommodate firm thighs meant to grip horse flesh. His red jacket cut him at the waist and emphasized the strength of his broad shoulders. His wide black belt and the shiny brass buttons served to showcase his shape. He did not have many medals, but the air of youth about him seemed to be the only reason. If he were older, one could expect many more decorations on his proud chest. His hair was covered by the customary broad-brimmed hat, but his eyebrows gave a hint as to the colour. From what I could tell, his hair was titian or auburn. I would have to run my fingers through it and examine it more closely to tell for certain.

I kept my eye on him as the train slowed. His eyes were fixed forward. He did not follow the movement of the train, but stood at attention for the duration. The conductor knocked on my compartment door and informed me we had reached our destination, but asked that I remain onboard for a few moments longer.

I was able to watch the Mountie as he stood there until a coffin was removed from somewhere further down the train. His eyes cut over to it as the attendants carried it across the platform and into the station. I swear I saw a tear run from his eye as the coffin passed him. It made my heart break to see. He stayed at attention, in his place, as the passengers began to disembark.

I gathered my things and joined the queue to leave. The conductor gave me a hand down and I gave the porter my luggage ticket. I was walking to the ladies' entrance of the station when I passed in front of the Mountie. I felt like such a fool; I had been trying to glide, as mother calls it, to walk as one of my station should walk, with head held high, back straight. What I did not see was the slight warp in the wood of the platform floor. Much to my chagrin, I tripped. The Mountie broke his attention and grabbed me before I could fall. I was mortified. I tried to stammer an apology or some thanks, but the moment I was righted he went back to his stoic stance and ignored me. Although, I could see a bit of irritation and ire on his face as I spoke to him. It troubled me to see his anger toward me, justified or not. It wasn't my fault I tripped; I hadn't planned it, but he should have been more gentlemanly about the situation. After all, he did clamp his hands around my waist in a very familiar way. Our encounter was strangely intimate.

When I was a child, bored and under-entertained I would sometimes shuffle my feet across the wool rugs and shock the next person who walked by me. Most times my mother was the object of my attack. When the mountie placed his hands on me I felt the same sensation, that shock and thrill of electricity as it passes from one person to another. I swear it stopped my heart for just a second.

What also stopped my heart was the sour look on his face after. I didn't expect him to fall in love with me at one touch or one notice, but neither did I expect anger. I shall do everything I can to stay away from the good constable while I am living here. I have no reason to be near the police at any rate on any given day. It shouldn't be difficult.

 **AN: In my opinion you should be reading FlamingMaple, BitterHarpy and HoneymoonEdward while waiting for the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**It is such a pleasure to take time from a day of boring domesticity to bring you this chapter. Thank you to Beachcomberlc for her unfailing support and vast knowledge of punctuation rules, as well as her kind patience. I made a new friend in rjh1960, who assures me she is not a stalker. I wonder if I should confess to the time I showed up, unannounced on Edward Eternal's doorstep bearing snacks or would that be planting too many seeds?**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Dear Diary,**

Mrs. Evenson continues to be a delight. Her home is the cheeriest I have ever encountered. Her injury is a cause of amusement for her and she says she loves having a younger person around to jaw with. Her nephew, a man she mentions frequently, is a quiet man. She says he is a great listener, but sometimes she wants to be the one to listen. Therefore, Esme has been having a grand time listening to all my stories of city life and grandeur. She seems to revel in my tales of tea dances, church bazaars, and normal school. Esme took a correspondence course examination and apprenticed with the former schoolmaster for a year way back in 1905, I was not yet born when she became a teacher. I can't imagine just how rudimentary and crude the tools were that she had to work with in those olden days. I wonder if I should ask her how the Boer War or The World War affected her teaching abilities then, although it might be insensitive to bring up the past. I have found older women do not generally like to be reminded that they are older. Best I hold my tongue.

I toured the small town and got my first look at the schoolhouse today. It is lovely and cozy, but a bit drab. I should ask Father for some extra funds and sponsor a repainting of the schoolhouse. It would look so much more darling if it were red and not cream with brown trim.

There are only a few businesses in the main town. There was a clothing store and some sort of tool and feed store catering to local farmers and labourers. The post office is attached to the general store and across the street is a restaurant. It's a tiny, tidy little place, but it seems to do good trade; there were lots of people coming and going while I was walking by. The church, of course, was the focal point of Main Street, its white spire and cross towering over the rest of the buildings. I was quite surprised to find not one, but two doctors in town, Dr. Cullen and Dr. Call. They share a small storefront building on the main street. Esme has spoken none too highly of the doctor who set her leg and is managing her care. I wonder which one he is.

Further down the main street is a large, three storey government building. I gather Kenora is a bit of a county seat, which makes some sense being it's the biggest town this side of the Ontario/Manitoba border.

I think my time here shall be happy. On Monday, I get to set up my classroom and make it my own, for now. I don't mind working on Labour Day. The students start on Tuesday, just a half day for the first and then full days starting after. I have to admit I am rather excited.

 **Dear Diary,**

Much to my chagrin, I have found that I am a disaster as a cook. Simple things I can manage, breakfast foods, sandwiches and the like, but my attempts to make a proper meal failed. Not just failed, but spectacularly. One of the ladies from town brought over a lovely chicken casserole the day I arrived, and Esme and I have been eating that. My reheating skills are good. I tried to make something on my own when it ran out. The recipe seemed so easy to follow, but either I missed a step or added one, because when we were in our places at the table with the pleasant aroma of onions and spices to greet us, the first taste had me gagging into my napkin. Esme was quick to spit hers out on her plate. Never have I had anything so foul in my mouth. I felt so badly that I cooked such slop for her. Part of my employment arrangement was that I keep house for her. I really thought I would be able to, but I was sorely mistaken. The cafe hadn't yet closed, so I was able to run over there and get a basket. They packed enough to last us dinner for tonight and the next. Esme gave me a list of names of local ladies to speak to tomorrow at church. One of them should be able to cook for us for the duration of my employ. I offered to pay for it, of course, and after a brief argument with Esme, she agreed.

I have never really failed at something like that before. It is a humbling feeling to learn you are no good at something so basic. I shall have to remind myself of this feeling whenever I get to overweening. I really thought years of eating well-prepared food would qualify me in fashioning it. Perhaps the young lady we get to cook for us might be willing to give me a lesson or two.

 **Dear Diary,**

Esme's list was perfect, and I hired a local girl named Maggie to attend us six afternoons per week. She'll prepare the evening meal, do light cleaning and ready simple lunches for us. She's a tiny thing with red hair and freckles, but sweet. She looked at me as if I were a grand lady of the house. Esme was her teacher, but she had to leave school early a couple of years ago to work. She was injured, and therefore fired from her factory job just two weeks ago. She assures me her injury will not prohibit her from housekeeping for us. She was able to start this very afternoon and came to the house not a full hour after church. I gave her a few dollars in advance for any supplies and as a thank you for being so amenable. She threw together a lovely pork roast and saw to all the other dishes needed, for Esme's nephew is expected for dinner tonight. I'm rather excited to meet him for she speaks so highly of him. I've decided to wear one of my prettier dresses. I'm glad to have an occasion to wear it. The school board's dress code for teachers is strict; I was afraid I had made a wasted effort bringing it here and not being able to show it off. If anything, I'll get to practice my flirting on the nephew to keep my skills sharp; afterall, Mother did spend years teaching me how to flirt. She'd be livid if I lost my edge while away from her tutelage.. It'll help when I go back home and have to gain one of Mother's prospects for a husband.

 **Dear Diary,**

Never in all my life have I had a more horrible, disastrous, or uncomfortable evening. The nephew, the sainted nephew of whom Esme can utter no wrong, is the self-same Mountie I unfortunately met on the train platform. He hated me on sight and did nothing to change his opinion this evening. I'm so angry I could spit. He said maybe three words to me during the course of the dinner, hardly four times that to his Aunt. I was an awkward, babbling baboon. Every second of silence during dinner unnerved me so, I felt I had to fill them with conversation. Esme did her best to keep up with me, however, something early in the evening must have struck her as very amusing, for she smiled and I dare say, giggled to herself quite often over the course of the dinner.

The Mountie's name is Edward Masen. Constable Edward Masen, Second Class, "O" Division. If he didn't hate me, I'd be inclined to find him rather romantic. He is very handsome, more so in his full ceremonial dress than in civilian clothes. However, he cuts a very fine figure of a man in everyday wear, that's to be certain. The hair I thought was titian is more brown, but shot with red and gold. The overall colour is hard to name, but seems an amalgamation of several colours at the same time. He didn't wear it pomaded and slicked back like so many men do nowadays.

I'll not be wasting my flirting skills on him. I have to admit, I did try a bit when he first arrived. I felt the same static charge when he took my hand in greeting, but I have decided it is a warning sign. My person is obviously warding against any touch of his. I do wonder if anyone has made a scientific query about this kind of phenomena?

 **Dear Diary,**

The first day of school was a revelation. My students are beautiful, well-behaved creatures. I'm ashamed to admit I expected ruffians and unwashed waifs. Instead, I was greeted by shiny clean faces, well appointed clean garments and smart children. Moreover, they are much better educated than I thought they'd be. I felt the need to apologize to Esme when I returned to her home for assuming the worst of her students before I arrived. And I would have, if not for Constable Masen sitting in the parlour with her, drinking tea and looking quite comfortable. I got flustered, seeing him there. For some reason my mind knows not, I bobbed a curtsey when I saw him there, like I was a new maid encountering the head of the household. As quick as I had done it, I felt a right ninny. He didn't even stand like a proper gentleman, but gaped at me slack-jawed and pop-eyed. I heard him clatter to his feet as I ran up the stairs. I am now hiding in my room waiting for him to leave so I may speak with Esme about my day; as well as try to forget my idiocy in the presence of Constable Masen.

 **AN: I believe you should be reading Elise de Sallier, Hopesparkles and Mrs. Brownloe. These three are part and parcel of the reason I write historical stories.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello lovelies. Several people have asked and yes, this story is told entirely in diary format. Bella does recount one very important conversation but that's it. Many thanks to Beachcomberlc for her help and friendship. I would be lost without her. She said I was mean for leaving this chapter as a cliffhanger but I know you'll forgive me, eventually.**

 **I'm just putting the finishing touches on the next chapter of Uncredited.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Dear Diary,**

With the end of my first week of teaching behind me, I feel so very accomplished. Despite Mother's doubts, I feel I am made for teaching. My darling students are so very lovely and I feel such pride when I see in their eyes that they understand what I am trying to teach them. A few are much more proficient in French than I am; there are several who speak a third, or even fourth language. I hadn't expected that. The older students help the younger ones. They are very aware of the current political climate and world events, and are able to present valid and salient points when we discuss history. They are proficiently versed in local industry. As a writing exercise, I set them an essay to detail their fathers' professions. I was shocked to read a great deal about forestry and mining, as well as game hunting. There is still much I can teach them, but I feel there is a great deal I can learn from them as well. I am so very humbled and delighted.

 **Dear Diary,**

The sole damper on my perfect first week as a teacher will be, of course, Sunday night dinner with Constable Masen. I was so tired I fell asleep in my supper Friday night. Saturday, I ran errands for Esme and myself while Dr. Cullen came to look in on her. Truth be told, I left the house as quickly as I could, knowing he was coming to see her. She was angry before I left, and hours later when I returned she was still livid. I hadn't seen such ire in a woman since I told my mother I was going to normal school. I gather Dr. Cullen is for Esme as Constable Masen is for me; a thorn in the side. Or a thorn in another part of a person. I have yet to meet the man, however, the rest of the town sings his praises. He's an older gentleman and has been caring for the town for over twenty years. Dr. Call, his partner, is younger and not quite as well regarded. Scuttlebutt about the good young doctor is that he wants to employ new practices and methods Dr. Cullen doesn't. For a fairly new town, they are rather reluctant to embrace change, in my opinion. They, the townspeople, are kind and friendly with me so far. I have to wonder if there is something else about this Dr. Call that rubs them the wrong way, or if it is just harder for him to fit in due to the intimate nature of his profession as opposed to mine. Perhaps I will make a bit of a study of it. Mother would be ever so pleased if I were to marry a doctor. I have no intentions of returning home with a husband, especially one that would please Mother.

At dinner, Constable Masen was quiet, as his aunt said he would be. He was slow to smile, but quick to eat. It was as if he knew when his aunt was about to ask him a question and he stuffed his face ahead of it so as not to have to answer. Other times, he seemed to ruminate over the question for longer than I felt necessary before answering in short sentences or single word utterances. I would wonder, if he had not passed the rigours of the RCMP academy, if perhaps the good Constable was a mite slow-witted.

 **Dear Diary,**

Do you know why I am so angry, dear diary? I'll tell you. I am angry because I'm tired. I'm tired because I spent the better part of last night soaking and scrubbing gravy from my good dress. My best dress. The white one with the red flowers, china silk and expensive. That dress. I fear it is ruined forever. I'm still fuming over his half-hearted apology. He hissed like a massasauga rattlesnake until he blurted out an apology. Not that I have come to expect anything from this rude man, but surely more than 'Sorry' before he ran out of the house. Esme fussed and flitted about after he'd slipped and poured the sauce on my shoulder but the good constable ran off like a thief or a guilty child. I have a mind to write to my father to get his commission revoked.

 **Dear Diary,**

I ran into Constable Masen in town today. He tipped his hat and nodded. He called me Miss Buh-buh-buh before clearing his throat. I couldn't tell if it was deliberate on his part or if he genuinely struggled with forming my name. I refused to acknowledge him. It made me feel petty, but I was glad I did it. It was outside the doctor's office and by the time I'd walked to the post office, I looked back to see what my snub had done to him. There was a blonde hanging all over him. Not a natural blonde, either, I could tell. The shade of her hair smacked of lemon juice lightener. I'm glad I couldn't see his face. I've seen it enough in my dreams lately. Now that I have the full measure of the man, I can concentrate on my teaching and the children.

 **Dear Diary,**

I feel so free now that I have hardened my heart towards Constable Masen. It will be a comfort to me to not have to try to impress him or engage him in conversation over dinner when he attends. I can treat him no better and no worse than I would any of Esme's guests. I've barely even noticed his presence around town as of late. I almost mentioned as much to him when I found him in line behind me at the post office. I'd written a long letter to Father and quick notes to both Mother, Rosalie and Alice. The letter to Father included a sizeable list of items the school needs. I was happy to get Esme's approval of the list prior to sending it. I am fairly certain he will agree to all my requests, although the typewriter may cause him to balk. I don't think it's a great expense, but Father might, especially in concert with everything else I requested. While I feel my students deserve all the extras I can give them, I'm not so certain Father will agree. If I were there in person to plead my case, and tear up for emphasis, I believe he'd spring forth the funds. Oh well, if he doesn't agree I'll just have to telephone him and beg.

 **Dear Diary,**

Constable Masen came to my classroom today, upon request of the school board to discuss safety with the children. I was aware someone from the detachment would be arriving, but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be the difficult Constable Masen. When I let him in the schoolhouse he struggled with even saying Good Morning to me politely. Much to my surprise, he was wonderful with the children. He wore his formal dress red serge tunic, those tall shiny boots and the black trousers fit tightly to the knee, the jodhpurs. I'm loath to admit, I found his trousers quite distracting, dear diary. The way they balloon out at the thigh and then the long scarlet tunic and thick brown belt. The picture of him is a giddy girl's ideal. Some girls dream of American cowboys, Persian sheiks, Roman gladiators and the lot, but a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer should rank within those ideals as a glamorous figure of a man. If only, oh dear diary, if only that fine specimen of manhood was not housed within odious Constable Masen. If I didn't know him, I'd harbour a passion for him. But I do know him and the knowing of him turns my blood cold.

He gave the children a sensible talk, let them all try on his wide-brimmed hat and touch the livery on his tunic. He answered every question they had, even the silly ones like his breakfast preference. Then he accompanied them all outside and introduced them to his horse. I held back. I've always been a bit afraid of horses. I like them fine pulling a carriage, but up close to such a large animal, I become nervous. Constable Masen lifted some of the younger children and let them stroke the horse's mane and nose. The beast was well tempered and the horse was well-behaved as well.

P.S. Constable Masen didn't stutter once when addressing the children. I wonder what that means.

 **Oh dear, Dear Diary.**

You'll never guess the day I've had. The tumult and terror. I almost died and went to meet my Maker. I was saved in the nick of time by none other than Constable Masen himself. Oh Diary, I have been so wrong about him. He's not aloof and detached, but painfully shy and hiding the most heart-rending stammer. My esteem of him has tripled, nay, quadrupled. I'll have to see if Father can get him a Commendation from Ottawa. I'll tell you more, but Esme is running a bath for me and Dr. Cullen is on his way for an examination. I hope that a tincture using Esme's good apple brandy is one of his prescriptions for me. My hand is still shaking. I doubt I'll be able to read this later.

 **An: I feel you should be reading MeteorOnAMoonlessNight, Knicnort3, and Highlanderprincess.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to both The Lemonade Stand and Tarbecca for the recs this week. I'm honoured. I am also honoured to have the expertise of Beachcomberlc in keeping this story readable.**

 **Without further ado, thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Dear Diary,**

A long bath has soothed my jangled nerves and rejuvenated my senses. The Doctor insists there is nothing to worry about. The knock to my head is benign, although it still smarts a good deal and there is a sizable goose-egg. But dear diary, accident aside for a moment, I saw Dr. Cullen kiss Esme on the cheek. She blushed and tittered like a schoolgirl. It was delightful to see people of such advanced age engaging in romance. I wonder if, in the twilight of their years, Mrs. Evenson would be want to change her name to Mrs. Cullen. Maybe. If I find out that is what she wants, then I will do everything I can to help her in that endeavour.

So, my dear diary, the events that so disturbed and threatened me? Oh, this will take lots of time in the telling. I may have to spread it out over several days as I attempt to keep the events in order.

I awoke late with a touch of the megrims and decided after breakfast to go to Newton's Mercantile for some headache powder. A simple errand for a Saturday that nearly cost me my life. For little did I know, nearing town at that moment was the notorious James Willoughby, his slattern Victoria Price and bagman Laurent duBois. They had, a few days before, concluded their crime spree with a bank heist in Chicago. They were passing through Kenora, bypassing the American police hunting for them. The plan, as we found later, was to drive around the lakes and continue their thievery in Detroit.

The Willoughby Gang had been terrorizing the midwestern United States for months. A trail of bodies was left behind as they made away with hundreds of thousands of hard-working people's dollars.

They stuck out like a sore thumb as soon as they arrived in town. Despite having a train depot, there are no automobiles in the area. Perhaps in Sault Ste. Marie, some well-to-do person might have a car. Definitely in Winnipeg, there would be a few. So, to have one pull up to the restaurant was a spectacle for the population of our small town. Not so much for me, as Father has a motor car and Kingston boasts several. I do prefer the gentility of travelling by carriage, but I digress.

I walked past the auto and the restaurant, lost in my thoughts, therefore I took no notice. My focus was solely on obtaining the headache powder and the relief it would provide. Such a normal, nay dull, errand that could have led to my abduction and possibly even my death.

Just to this side of the door to the restaurant, there is an uneven board in the sidewalk. The town has been after Mr. and Mrs. Cope to fix it for a donkey's age. However, Mr. Cope is always too busy making a show of himself with Jessica, their waitress. Mrs. Cope, it is said, drowns her sorrows in chocolate, brandy and those awful pirate romances they publish in the Wives' Monthly Newsletter. So the loose board goes unattended and I, of course, tripped over it, just as James Willoughby exited the restaurant.

My hand is cramping and the remembering of events is wearing on my tender emotions, dear diary. Allow me a restorative cup of tea and I'll tell you the rest.

So, when I lost my footing, I was rescued by a warm set of hands. One first on my arm, then another snaking around my waist. As I straightened, the hand at my waist travelled up to my ribs. The hand on my arm gripped almost too hard, but not bruising. 'Careful there, little lady' my rescuer said, his breath hot in my ear. The hair on the back of my neck raised and a flicker of fear settled in my stomach. I turned my head to thank the man, hoping he'd unhand me. His breath was foul, a wide yellowed smile greeting me when I turned. A ratty looking moustache was above the smile. His eyes were a weak, watery blue but the sclera was as yellow as his teeth and shot through with streaks of red. Bloodshot, I think the term is.

I thanked him. I was brusque and curt, but polite. He didn't unhand me; in fact, he let his hand rise higher on my ribs so it was just under my bosom. His grip on my wrist tightened too. It hurt, and I was terrified. We were joined by a woman, who called his name questioningly and another man, who said nothing, but looked at me very strangely.

The first man (they called him James) let out a cruel sounding laugh and joked that I threw myself at his feet. One of his fingers stroked the underside of my breast.

With an overly sweet voice, he asked me where I was going, and like a paralyzed fool, I mentioned the mercantile. Keeping me well tucked into his side, he propelled me along the sidewalk and across the street. All the while, the woman was whining at him to 'get rid of' me. I now understand she meant for him to kill me. The other man tried to reason with both of them, saying they had to leave, that they'd been in town too long. It was obvious James was in charge and I had every reason to fear him, because they were terrified of him as well. I could hear it in their tone and the way they looked at him.

I didn't notice at the time, but there was no one else on the street. No other shoppers or townsfolk walking around, no riders or wagons.

When we reached the store, he let go of me after placing a wet, slobbery kiss on my hand. He ordered the woman to go with me and keep an eye on me. As soon as we entered the store, she slapped me across the face with the back of her hand, the rings on her fingers cutting my skin. I felt the blood trickle down my cheek, but managed not to scream. Mr. Newton was behind the counter, standing ramrod straight and looked petrified. I asked him for the powders with my voice, but begged him for help with my eyes. He nodded as if he understood, but merely passed me a few packets. I expected his aid in some way, but the man was wooden. I slid my coins across the counter to him, but he was looking over my head through the window. The woman, Victoria, stamped her feet, commanding our attention and yelled at me for taking too long. She grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out of the store. When I looked back, Mr. Newton was gone, either ducked down behind the counter or hiding in the backroom.

'There's my pretty girl. We're going to have some fun now.' James crowed when she let go of my bun and pushed me forward. As I steadied myself on the railing outside the store and wondered how I was going to get out of this horror, I saw a glint of metal come from the restaurant door. Victoria was yelling at James, telling him he didn't need me, that she'd do anything he wanted. The other man was in the auto getting the engine started. A hand sneaked out the restaurant door and waved at me, telling me to get down.

I managed to drop to the ground just as the shooting started. James and his gang returned fire. Victoria lunged at me, but I let all my muscles go slack. I knew there was no way she could drag me down the steps and into the vehicle. She called me a horrible name and kicked me in the stomach, then the ribs and finally in the head. I don't remember much after that.

When I regained consciousness, I opened my eyes to see the most stunning pair of green eyes staring back at me with concern. As I blinked, the worry left them, replaced with warm happiness. Constable Masen was looming over me. It was in that moment I was struck by the sheer beauty of the man.

I must rest, dear diary. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow

 **Dear Diary,**

I slept for eleven hours recuperating from my ordeal. I still look a fright and am pained when I breathe deeply. Dr. Cullen stopped in for a quick visit; he brought flowers for myself and for Esme. Oh dear diary, she giggled! I've never known a woman of her advanced age to giggle like a schoolgirl. The noise and shock of it set me to tittering as well, even though it made my head pound. Dr. Cullen demanded I close the school tomorrow for another day's rest. He said he would take care of informing the parents and the school board. I really can't see why it is that Esme finds fault with him, or rather why she did before. She sure doesn't seem to now. I think they will be courting soon enough. With a little push in the right direction, that is.

So anyway, I woke up from the gunfight to find Edward hovering over me. I feel at liberty to call him that in my head now that he has become a heroic figure in my life. We have an unbreakable bond now, one of savior and damsel. Constable Edward Masen shall forever hold a place in my heart and my family's prayers. He looked so relieved and smiled widely at me. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me down again. Good thing he did, because that little bit of movement made me feel nauseated and close to vomiting. I would die of embarrassment if I vomited in front of any man.

He told me to keep as still as possible, that the doctors were on their way. It was then I noticed his speech impediment. Edward has a severe stammer. Every other word, it seems, causes him to stumble and start. He struggled with my name, not the S but the W of Swan. I asked him to call me Isabella but the B proved even more difficult. The dear, his face turned several shades of red as he was talking to me. I could almost feel his frustration radiating from him. He squirmed around a great deal, but didn't leave my side until the doctor was ready to look at me.

James Willoughby died as a result of the shootout. Edward was stationed across the street with a shotgun and shot at the car, leading the gunfight. James managed to get in the car and drive off, but crashed just outside of town. He lost control and smashed headlong into an old oak. His body was found riddled with bullets and crushed by the impact of the car. It's difficult to say which killed him however I'm thankful he is dead, as horrible as that is to say of another person. Victoria and the other man, Laurent, were apprehended and have been escorted to jail in Thunder Bay. The reign of terror the Willoughby Gang had wrought has been quashed. Two thousand American dollars was found in the boot of the car, along with many guns. Our little town of Kenora has made headline news for the last couple of days. Father called to yell at me and to check on me, in that order. Mother is beside herself with worry. I was able to console her and let her know that there will be no lasting damage to my face.

However, I do look a fright. I've a massive bruise to my face covering one eye, cheek and temple. My stomach didn't bruise but hurts to touch and my ribs are cracked. It was the most thrilling, yet terrifying adventure of my life.

 **AN: I feel you should be reading Maplestyle, CullensTwiMistress and SoftRagoo.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I realize you just want to read the story and don't want to hear from me, however I must thank Beachcomberlc and IpsitaC77 for their contributions to this story.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Dear Diary,**

I spent the entire day in bed, but my headache is beginning to wane. Edward came by to speak with me officially. I had to give a statement and may be called to testify in court if they go to trial. It was odd, but when Edward was speaking in a professional capacity, he didn't stutter once. I didn't want to mention anything to him for fear of embarrassing him. I studied him as he took down my story. He really is a very handsome man. I hope his recent kindness towards me leads to a lasting friendship. Well, as lasting as it can be when I have to leave in just over four weeks. Esme is feeling better and better these days. The cast comes off this week and then she can use a cane for a while. Dr. Cullen tells her she'll be dancing again in no time. She gets a sour pinched look of her face whenever he says that. I think there is some history there I'm not privy to.

I'll be so very sad to leave Kenora and teaching. I've enjoyed it so. All my lofty ideas of bringing quality education to the backwoods children make me laugh now. If anything, those backwoods children have taught me more than I've taught them. They are just as intelligent and driven as city children. They are making the most of the opportunities given them. And I'll miss them.

Maggie brought me some face-powder and helped me hide my bruises. I'm sure by now the whole town and all the children know what happened, but I don't want to frighten them. I look so ghastly without the powder. I know because Edward could barely look me in the eye.

I was thinking of circumventing my mother and searching out a new position. There can be no harm in looking. I was writing a list of towns and school boards to make my inquiries when Edward arrived. He didn't think it was a bad idea to ask about for other employment either. In fact, he let me know that he may be leaving Kenora as well. He mumbled something about a commendation and a promotion due to his actions with the Willoughby Gang. Esme clarified it for me after he left. Edward was the one leading the charge. He had been tipped off by the American police and recognized the car as soon as it pulled into town. While the gang was in the restaurant, Edward commanded the rest of the townspeople to hide so he could ambush them as they left the restaurant. My coming to town forced him to change his plan and adapt. Mr. Newton was supposed to help, but froze. Edward tried to apologize for my injuries, but I wouldn't let him. It wasn't his fault by any means.

School tomorrow, dear dairy. I know it will be a busy day with excited children. I meant to ask Edward if he would come give the students another talk on law and order, to help them make sense of what happened in their town. I wonder if he likes children. I'll ask next time he comes for dinner.

 **Dear Diary,**

My children are so wonderful. Each and every one brought me a get well card. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried; I was so touched. Some even had a signature from their parents. They're just delightful. I shall treasure them for the rest of my days.

I saw Edward with his blond amorata. She looked so happy with him. I wonder if he will marry her. They do make a very handsome couple. I may have to press Esme for some gossip. She tends to be tight-lipped but a little brandy might just loosen her up. Plus, what Auntie wouldn't be proud of their handsome young nephew's upcoming nuptials, if indeed they were happening.

I owe him my life and I plan on being very friendly with him from now on. I spoke to father about the ordeal, now that my nerves are more settled. He said he'd mention Constable Masen to his friends in Parliament. Perhaps it will help Edward get the assignment he wants.

I haven't yet heard from any school boards, I didn't really expect to this quickly, but waiting for anything is a torture.

Speaking of which, three days from now, Dr. Cullen says I can take off the corset I've been wearing to keep my ribs stable. It will be quite the relief, let me tell you. Mother makes me wear them for fancy occasions even if they are not in fashion any more. It's the way she was raised, I guess. I find them to be awful garments, restrictive and uncomfortable. Although, I hate to admit, and would deny vehemently, I appreciate the way my bosom looks when I'm wearing one. Pure vanity on my part.

 **Dear Diary,**

Such news I have for you. There is to be a ceremony in Edward's honour for his bravery and quick thinking. A representative from the Premier's office, as well as some muckety-muck from the RCMP will be here to give him a commendation. Mayor Newton, who is also the proprietor of the mercantile, asked that I organize the children into a choir to sing for the ceremony. Just our national anthem, God Save The King, nothing fancy or intricate. I love the idea of the children celebrating Edward. I don't have the best ear, but I'm very happy to to be of service. I think I'll add a few Christmas carols to our repertoire and see if any of the children have traditional songs from other countries we could attempt. It would be nice to represent all of them. Maybe we could host a little concert for the parents, nearer to Christmas. Make it my last hurrah before I leave here. How sad to think I shall be departing so soon. I hope I get another assignment. I don't want to go home and marry some dolt of my mother's choosing. I love working, teaching the children, grading papers–all of it. I need a husband who would allow me to continue working after our wedding. I'd stop, of course,if there were children. I just need to find that kind of man. It's a pity Edward has a girl, with Esme for an aunt he'd likely have forward ideas.

 **Dear Diary,**

For the most part, the children sing like angels. Drunken angels. But they are trying so hard it does my heart proud. Bless them. They are loud, out of tune and tempo and make my head ache. But I love every moment of it.

Edward brought flowers for Esme and for me. Such a nice gesture. His girl is very lucky. Still, he struggles speaking with me, but I wait patiently for him to form the sounds. When he does get them out he has the most lovely voice; a rich tenor with a hint of brogue. I love to listen to him. I meant to ask him about his girl, but time got away from us over dinner. Maggie made the most wonderful boiled dinner with a sweet pickled ham and sharp English mustard. I would have gorged myself if no one else was at the table. She told me about a soup she's planning with the remainders, a pea soup, I am very much looking forward to the rest of the week's meals. The weather has turned so dastardly cold, a hearty soup sounds like a balm for the soul. Maggie wrote the instructions down, to the letter of how to make a boiled dinner for me. I hope I'll be brave enough to attempt it in the future.

 **Dear Diary,**

It's curious, I met Edward's amorata at the mercantile after school today and she gave me the cold shoulder when I tried to introduce myself to her. I do hope she doesn't think I am making a play for her beau. It's certainly not my fault I live with his aunt and he visits frequently. I'm no hussy who would go after another woman's fellow. I had a friend at normal school like that. Any man was fair game for her until he had a wife, or stepped out on said wife of his own free will. I almost reported her to the Dean of Women for being a floozy, but lost my nerve. Outside of that predilection she was a lovely person and a good teacher. I had a feeling that once she was married she'd change her ways. There's nothing like being on the other end of the stick to change one's perspective. Perhaps I'll run into her again and let her know I have no designs on Edward because I know he's taken. I'd sing a different tune if I knew he was available.

 **AN: I believe you should be reading ghostreader24, sunshine1220, and 2brown-eyes.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Dear reader, yelling at Bella as you read the story will not change her behaviour. However, I do love you for it. Thank you to Beachcomberlc, who never yells, no matter how awful my punctuation and grammar are.**

 **Thank you for reading**

 **Chapter 7**

 **Dear Diary,**

Long letter from Mother. I'm so angry. She's forbidding me to look for any more positions, and says she has Father's blessing. She's planning a tea dance for New Year's Eve so she can secure my hand to Royce King. I feel as if she is selling me to him, hawking me to his parents while I've been away. I've barely even spoken to the man and I'm supposed to become his wife for the sake of our fathers' businesses. I could spit. And I'm trapped in this northern town with no one near my age to marry. There is only Edward, and he's already taken by his blond parcel. Well, damn. You heard me. I swore. Damn it, damn it, damn it all to hell.

 **Dear Diary,**

Please forgive my foul mood and language in my last letter. I've calmed some, but I'm still in a state. Esme gave me a toddy last night when she came upon me crying my eyes out. She didn't try to sort it all out for me, which I really appreciate. I feel as though the only person I can tell my true feelings to is you, dear diary. I know I'm really just talking to myself, but I'm comforted just the same as if you were a real person. I only have two weeks of freedom left. Two weeks until all the hopes and dreams I had for myself shrivel up and die, leaving me ready to be a stranger's wife and society lady. I wish I knew stronger curse words.

 **Dear Diary,**

The Christmas concert was lovely. Most of the parents were able to attend. The ceremony for Edward went off without a hitch. It was smart planning on my part to have them within hours of each other. Well, the mayor scheduled Edward's, but I knew most of the parents would be there to see him celebrated, so I scheduled the concert for just before. Esme was there in the audience and the children were so happy to see her walking without her cane. Edward was there too, in his red serge and looking so heartbreakingly dashing. He reminded me of the first time I saw him, the day I arrived. I still haven't asked him why he was on the platform in full dress uniform and at attention. And whose coffin it was that made him shed a tear. The picture of him standing there so stoically floats across my imagination often. He is absurdly handsome in his uniform. And in his civilian clothes, if I'm being honest with myself. I'm glad to have made friends with him. I could imagine the vultures of society back in Kingston getting their claws into him. A handsome face was a rarity with the moneyed set, I found. Puffed up red faces in tight collars are what passes for masculine beauty where I'm from. A man's look is not important to them, but the size of his wallet is. Edward is kind, faithful and handsome. What young lady would not want him for a husband? Which begs the question for me–where was his girl during the ceremony in his honour today? I didn't see her anywhere. And trust me, I searched.

 **Dear Diary,**

Oh Diary! I had a dream about Edward last night and it was a good dream. I was outside of Esme's house, with all my trunks loaded in the wagon. I guess I was on my way to the train station to go home to Kingston. He rode up on a huge black horse, like the ones they use for the Musical Ride, the ones with the furry feet. He rode up and slid gracefully from the horse's back and on to one knee. He, without a single stutter or stammer, asked for my hand and then he kissed me. A real kiss, bending me over his arm and crushing me to him. I swear I could feel his belt buckle dig into my stomach, the dream felt that real.

I woke up and cried. Not due to fear, but because in that moment I wanted the dream to be real. I wanted that possibility. I don't want to admit to it, but I find I am harbouring warm feelings for a man who is taken by another. I shouldn't think of him, or any man that way whose heart is occupied. But good Lord help me, if Edward weren't taken I'd use every tool in my feminine arsenal to land him. No good will come of having these feelings for him, and thank goodness I'm leaving here in a week and a half. I can't and won't let him suspect.

I have to get ready for school. The elders are sitting for exams this week and I've set easier tests for the smaller ones. I have just enough time left to mark them all. Esme asked to help. She wants to see the progress her children have made. I've given her reports but she wants to see the tangible proof on paper. She knows how glowingly I speak of them.

 **Dear Diary,**

This is my last Sunday here. I leave Saturday next on the morning train. I'll be back in Kingston by Monday dinner, if all goes well. There has been snow, but the rails are clear, I've heard. No, this is my last Sunday and Edward did not come to dinner. I've barely seen him all week. He was here for tea on Thursday, but missed his usual Friday dinner as well. I wonder if he has his new posting and has left Kenora, forgetting to say goodbye to me. I have been working at the school later these days, in a effort to get all my work finished. I may have missed his goodbye to his aunt as well. I guess I don't mean as much to him as he does to me. Perhaps Edward didn't view our friendship as important. Not that I would blame him; I wasn't very kind to him for the longest time and we are only friends. He has a sweetheart. But still, I will miss him and I wish I had the chance to say a proper farewell.

 **Dear Diary,**

It has been such a busy week. My children, goodness am I going to miss them, gave me a plaque they made with their names on it. They each wrote me a card, even the littlest ones who could only write their names and each of their mothers made a baked treat. They held a tea for me and everyone had a grand time. Esme came, the mayor popped his head in; even Dr. Cullen showed up. He arrived just in time to escort Esme home, as well. I'm asking her about their history tonight and getting answers, mark my word. Convention be damned. The mayor gave me a commendation for what happened with the Willoughby Gang and my bravery under fire. I didn't tell any of them how terrified I had been. The last exam has been passed out, all the tests marked and recorded. I officially gave the keys back to Esme and as of right now I am no longer a teacher. In a few minutes, I'll go down and have dinner with Esme and Maggie. Maggie is going to stay on with Esme, as a companion, with light housekeeping and cooking in lieu of room and board. The mill owner is evicting her from the apartment she was renting and her injury prevents her from finding other work. But it will be fine. They enjoy each other's company, Maggie needs a place to stay and Esme is not getting younger; she needs some help. Maggie has a new job cleaning Dr. Cullen's clinic every morning before they open. I slipped her a very sizeable purse for everything she's done for us. As a goodbye present, Maggie made me a very simple, easy-to-follow recipe book. Chances are I won't need it. A young married woman of my soon-to-be social status will have a cook, and a maid. But it will be something for me to read and reminisce over in the years to come. Esme is calling me for dinner.

 **Dear Diary,**

Dinner was lovely. Dr. Cullen, or Carlisle as he insisted I call him, came and ate with us. Over a beautiful roasted chicken dinner, I learned the whole story of the feud between Esme and Carlisle. What a tale, dear diary. At the end of it, he proposed. Oh I cried, Maggie cried, Esme, even Carlisle had a tear or two. It was the perfect end to my time here to have Esme happily engaged to her former beau. I'm so very tired and Carlisle insisted we all have an extra glass of wine, so I'm a little tipsy, but I'll try to tell you the story before bed.

Carlisle and Esme were at school together, years and years ago. He used to tease her mercilessly. He pulled her hair, dipped her braids in the inkwell and stuffed frogs in her desk. Carlisle was a year ahead and left for university. Esme's feelings were hurt when he came home with a sweetheart, even though there had been no agreement between them. Esme got her back up. When Esme was leaving town to learn to be a teacher, Carlisle proposed out of the blue. No courting, no understanding, just a proposal. She refused him, but still cared for him. When Charles Evenson came along, Esme didn't feel she would ever get another chance at a husband so she agreed to marry him. The marriage wasn't happy, in fact it was barely content. Charles was, in a word, dull. When he died, Esme got the position here in Kenora. A few years later, Carlisle showed up as the new town doctor. He resumed his teasing, but Esme was still hurt and ashamed of marrying Charles. She avoided Carlisle at all costs for thirteen years, until she broke her leg. They finally had the chance to talk to each other and make up for the wasted years. I have to go to sleep now. The extra wine was lovely, but I'm very sleepy. I have to leave tomorrow. I don't want to leave here. I love Esme, and my kids, Maggie, Dr. Cullen, the whole town, I love them all. Edward, the most.

 **Dear Diary**

Please ignore my tipsy ramblings from last night. The carriage is here, my bags are packed. I'll write more from the train. I'm resigned and fear I won't be much of a conversationalist for the next few days as I journey home to my parents. So long, dear diary. I must dry my eyes before I take my leave of Kenora.

 **AN: I believe you should be reading gabby1017, ceceprincess1217 and compass54.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Oh ye of little faith. I made a couple last minute changes to this chapter so if there are mistakes, they are mine alone. Beachcomberlc worked her magic on this story. before I messed with it again.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 8**

 **Dear Sweet Wonderful Diary,**

The stories I have to tell you would curl your pages, dear diary. You have no idea the adventures I have had over the past month. Yes, month, dear dairy. You may now address me as Mrs. Edward Masen. I married Himself and what a glorious thing it is to be married. Mother had a fit of apoplectic proportions, but has since calmed some. Especially once she learned Edward's family was well-to-do back in England before they landed here. His circumstance makes not one whit of difference to me. They lost the money and status when they immigrated, but to Mother it's important. She and Father might take the train out here to meet my handsome husband. Both were won over and forgave me for eloping when they read how much he loves me. Mind you, seeing him in his full livery should help soothe their tempers as well. That red serge uniform is magical.

See, dear diary, when I tearfully left Esme's and climbed into the hire wagon, I never expected to see Edward again. Heartbroken but hiding it, I soldiered on, directing the porter with my bags and securing the first class sleeper tickets my father bought for me at the counter. Distracted and forlorn, I walked from the ladies' sitting room onto the platform for a breath of air and there he was. Scarlet-coated in all his glory, Edward Masen, breathless from running and flush, his eyes wild until he saw me. No sounds, no one else dared move on the platform as he walked over to me. For the rest of my life I will remember, verbatim, what he said to me.

"Bella, there you are. I w-w-w-was afraid I m-missed you."

I know I must have smiled at him. When he stammered, he was adorable, but manly at the same time. I could feel tremors in my stomach and knees. I wanted to reach for him, hold him to me, but he belonged to another; it would not be proper.

He smiled back and removed his hat, tucking it under his arm. I almost expected him to click his heels together, but he didn't.

"Have you come to say goodbye? How kind of you, Edward."

"Yes, but also, I've just come back from M-M-Moose Jaw. The town is growing and I've been transferred to a detachment there. They are desperate for teachers as w-w-w-well."

"Really? I could get a new job?"

"I h-happened to meet with a member of the school-b-board and told him about you. He'd have to meet you, b-b-but said your ch-chances were very good."

I couldn't help myself, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Oh dear diary, the shock that ran through me when I kissed him — it was nothing short of delicious.

Edward chuckled and patted me on the back, but grew stiff in his carriage. I released him as quickly as I accosted him.

"Oh, I should change my ticket... maybe I should write to the school board... I wonder if Esme will let me stay on a few more days... what will Mother and Father say if I don't come home... what will they say if I go further out west unchaperoned? It was all I could do to get them to allow me come this far. Saskatchewan is near akin to Sodom and Gomorrah as far as they think" I blathered. I know I blathered, but I just couldn't help myself. Edward led me over to a bench and sat me down. He asked my permission before sitting beside me. He was such a gentleman, it hurt my heart knowing he was taken.

"I can change your ticket for you, if you like. I think your mother and father won't stand in your way if you don't let them. And I would be honoured to take you to M-Moose Jaw."

"You'd be willing to chaperone me all that way? How kind of you to offer to be my escort, Edward." His offer didn't make much sense, but I thanked him regardless. An unmarried man is not a proper escort for an unmarried woman, even if he is a member of the constabulary in good standing. He is still a man. A virile, handsome and kind man.

"I don't want to go as your chaperone or your escort, Bella"

"Then, what? You'd take me as a prisoner? I don't understand."

Edward's face flushed as bright red as his uniform. I could see him swallow, and then heard him clear his throat. He slid off the bench and got down on one knee. My hands flew to my mouth and he reached up, taking one of my gloved hands in his large rough hand.

"I'd like to escort you as your husband, Bella. I'm mad for you, don't you know?"

I was at a loss for words. For the first time in my life, I was struck dumb. This must have unnerved him because, normally quiet and taciturn, Edward kept talking.

"Marry me, Bella? Make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife."

And so I did, dear diary. I threw off the restrictive yoke of my parents' wants and wishes, and married the man I love. Edward had five days before he had to report to his new post. I traded my first class sleeper single for a double and two nights at a hotel in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Esme was waiting for me at her house with a bouquet of flowers and the local minister. Just an hour later, after I wrote a cable to Mother and Father, I was wed. Our train west left early the next morning, so I slept in my old bed by myself while my husband camped out on his aunt's chesterfield. Esme gave me a very frank and educational discussion as to what to expect when we reached the hotel in Winnipeg. I had some inkling as to the act, but clearly nowhere near enough information. I was glad of the full day's travel time to get used to the idea of what was to come with my handsome, eager husband. There was no way I was doing that for the first time on a train, and I made sure my thoughts on the matter were known. Edward pouted a bit, but once he tried to fit himself into the berth, I think he understood my position. We spent the twenty-seven hours kissing, cuddling and talking.

Edward's stutter disappeared shortly after we were married. He said I made him so nervous and scared, he couldn't form words properly. That was one of the reasons he barely spoke to me in the beginning. And here I thought he disliked me. If I had only paid proper attention, he could have been mine much sooner.

The blond parcel who I thought was his amorata, well, she desperately wanted to be. Her name is Lauren. Apparently she's known for wanting to have an officer husband. She had tried to lay claim to Edward's colleague, Benjamin Cheney. However, he died in a training accident in Toronto. She then, after a brief mourning period, turned her attentions to Edward. There was never anything between them. Edward laughed at the idea. They all grew up together and she was a bother to both of them when they were young, even more so now that they were all grown.

Constable Cheney's death and deliverance back home to his parents was the reason Edward was on the platform in full uniform when I first saw him.

 **Dear Diary,**

Sorry I had to run mid-sentence earlier. There was a knock at the door. Edward surprised me with a letter and a kiss in the middle of his shift. He's been working very odd and long hours to prove himself as a Constable, First Class. I hear from some of the other wives that he is in line for another promotion. I'm so proud of him. And he makes me so happy, dear diary. I don't think I can properly convey just how much married life has improved me.

The letter is from Rosalie. It was newsy and sweet. They've both found husbands of their own. Rose has married Emmett, who works in logging as a foreman or something. He supplies her with plenty of logs for her totem carving. She hasn't sold any yet, and the local community is wary of her usurping their craft and all, but she says she's taking it in stride. She says she wants to honour them as much as she can. It'll take time.

Alice fell in love and ran away with an American sailor. He was on shore leave in Vancouver and met up with Alice in a diner, of all places. Rosalie came home to a note slid under her door from Alice saying goodbye. She wrote again from Galveston, Texas. She'd moved in with his, Jasper Whitlock's mother, calling her Big Mama and planning to live her life waiting for Jasper to come back to shore. Rosalie could laugh at it now, but it was trying for her at the beginning. To have your younger sister disappear like that, run off after a man to a foreign country. Alice struck me as a fairy-like creature, so I'm not all that surprised at the news I just read. The most troubling part of the story is that Alice has changed her discipline from oil painting to seashell and driftwood art. I can't picture art based on the flotsam and jetsam of the sea, but to each their own I guess. I hope to hear more from Rosalie in the future.

So, where was I in my story? Constable Cheney and the blond, right? Edward never held any interest in her and she couldn't see past the uniform. That was all she wanted. Edward was distraught when he stood on the platform waiting for Benjamin's body to be returned home. They had been the best of friends since they were both in short pants. They attended the academy together and were lucky enough to be billetted at the same detachment near their home town. Constable Cheney was crushed in a streetcar accident when he was thrown from his horse in Toronto. The horse had to be put down as well.

Edward felt the same electric shock when he saved me from tripping. It scared him and pulled his focus from the service he was performing for his friend. It was such a solemn occasion and at first blush, Edward was angry with me for distracting him. However, in his words, he was also beguiled by the brown-haired beauty with the very slender waist. Edward hadn't had much time for courting, saving his time for his studies and then the academy. I was the first girl to garner his attention. Ever. Therefore, he had no idea how to court me or even how to try.

But he won my heart nonetheless and I, his.

 **Dear Diary,**

I'm all out of sorts today. I've just received a letter from my parents. They intend to visit next month. I'm not surprised, but I've been married for four months now. I expect they thought I would have left him by now, come to my senses and all that rot. But I adore my husband. I may have run headlong into this marriage, but I am so deliciously happy with Edward. He's been so patient with me; he is a far better cook than I, but I'm learning. He endures my less than savoury meals, just as I put up with his odd shifts and responsibilities.

School is almost over for the year. I've not been teaching, but helping out at various schools in the city. I have a classroom for September, grades five and six. A delightful age to teach and I'm rather excited. I know Mother and Father will complain about my working while being a married woman, but Edward's salary is still on the small side and I need the work to keep my mind fit. Mother initially cut off my allowance, but Father has been padding my bank account on the sly. Edward and I decided not to touch that money, or my salary and live just on his, if we can. He has taught me a great deal about budgeting and frugality. The money is being saved for a home, a proper home. For the time being we are renting, at a good discount, a private married quarters house provided by the RCMP detachment. We live simply and I'm not sure Mother will accept that. She and Father may just have to stay at the hotel if she disapproves of my home.

 **AN: I feel you should be reading Archy12, Ipsitac77 and MissLiss15.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Goodness, here we are at the last chapter of this little comedic melodrama. I am so grateful for your response. You make my shrivel dead heart pitter-pat just like it used to. Beachcomberlc is in possession of a youthful, lush beating heart big enough to forgive me all manner of foolish mistakes and inconsistencies.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Chapter 9**

 **Dear Diary,**

If I were forced to, I would have to say that the last six weeks have been the longest in my entire life. Mother and Father arrived just shy of a week early. The house was almost ready for them, I had been touching it up with a lick of paint and some gay curtains. Edward had been sent to Saskatoon for some training and I was missing him when my father knocked on our door. I was shocked when I opened the door to see he and my mother, soaked to the skin, looking like something the cat might drag in. They had hired a cab to bring them here, but gave the wrong address. We live on Elm Tree Street. Mother gave the driver Elm Street. The resulting argument with the driver found them evicted and forced to walk across town in the rain. Mother had been further embarrassed by having to carry some of her own baggage. Nonetheless, they arrived. I had tea and warm stew to offer them, as well as a bed ready.

Mother had two days to lecture me before Edward came home. I endured. Mother was appalled by the size of our home, the fact that I cooked and worked and the state of my wardrobe. We almost came to blows before I reminded her that I was an adult, a married woman and no longer her little girl. She burst into tears, dear diary, and I was fit to be tied. Father and I just sat and watched her display more emotion in one afternoon than she had in the last twenty years.

Just as she gathered herself together, Edward walked in the door. Wearing his formal dress uniform, he stood in the doorway and assessed our parlour for a moment before removing his hat and introducing himself to my parents. It did not escape my notice that while Edward was assessing our guests, they were assessing him as well. Father looked at him with ire at first, with a wariness of one commanding male encountering another. Edward cut a very intimidating figure in his dress uniform. The fact that he was much taller and more broad through the shoulder than Father also added to his stature. But it was Mother's reaction that took the cake. As he stood there, a slow smile crept across his face, lighting up his features and increasing his handsomeness. I had trouble catching my breath at the sight. My mother damn, yes I swore, she damn near melted into a puddle at the first look of him. When he kissed her cheek, my mother, the harridan doyenne of Kingston, simpered like a twelve-year-old girl.

As Edward addressed Father, shaking his hand and being polite, mother ran her hand over her hair, straightened her skirts and I swear I saw her push up her bosom. She forced Father from the davenport and insisted Edward sit beside her. She looped her arm through his and patted his knee before barking at me to fetch Edward a cup of tea and a sweetmeat. Poor Edward looked agog and a little frightened as I left the room. As I warmed the tea, I could hear mother's laughter, more like a titter, high-pitched and girly, so Edward must have said something amusing. The rest of the evening, throughout dinner and into the night, she hung on his every word, her eyes twinkling. I could see Father go from angry, by the set of his upper lip and the twitch of his moustache, to entertained by her antics.

I was absolutely mortified to hear faint moaning and, oh my poor ears, grunting coming from the guest bedroom just a few moments after we had all retired for the night. There were only two bedrooms in our tiny house, crammed in under the eaves and sloped roof. Edward found it exceedingly difficult to hold in his mirth at my embarrassment. As far as I knew, my parents no longer partook of that activity in their twilight years. By what I imagined of my mother, they had only ever performed that act once, to conceive me, and then washed their hands of it. It was the single most disturbing thing I have ever listened to in my entire life.

Mother flirted with Edward for the duration of their visit. She touched him constantly. He found it funny, I found it draining.

They stayed for three weeks.

They stayed for three long weeks.

Mother loosened her corsets, or whatever it was that had her so priggish for her entire life. Towards the end, I actually felt as though she liked me. She rolled up her sleeves and cooked with me. She helped me with the housework; she delighted in sweeping, she thought it was fun. She tried to give me marital relations advice, but I refused to engage with her on the topic. We did discuss other topics pertinent to life as a lady. Come to find out, Mother is going through the change of life and she is not shy to talk about it. This coming from a woman who couldn't say 'breast' to me as I was growing up for fear it was too salacious a word for my tender ears. Father toured the town with Edward, introducing himself to all the men of industry. They brought us a wireless radio from the Eaton's catalogue for our wedding present, as well as a large sum for our bank account. I found I was sad to see them go; thankful that they left, but sad as well.

 **Dear Diary,**

I have a secret. I think I may be with child. I don't dare tell Edward yet, not until I'm certain. I've arranged a visit to the doctor tomorrow. If he confirms it, then I'll tell Edward. To be honest, I'm not that surprised I fell pregnant. Edward has been insatiable since Mother and Father were here. I think the three weeks of abstinence took a toil on him and he's been making up for lost time over the last two months.

It was a might awkward when we were first married. It took a few weeks until that aspect of our marriage ran smoothly. Poor Edward had the patience of a saint with me. The tension of the first few days of our marriage on the train served to inflame his masculinity. Unpropitiously I grew more and more frightened as the hours ticked by. When we arrived at the hotel, he was more than ready and I was a grueling puddle of nerves. Not that I didn't want him. Good Lord, I wanted that man something fierce, but I was apprehensive about the act itself. I had never seen an unclothed man before. I had only ever seen one of those in drawings or sculpture. They always struck me as an odd, floppy, dangly appendage. I couldn't see what all the fuss was about and why having that piece of flesh was so very important it allowed men to rule the world.

When Edward undressed with his back to me, I was struck by the beauty of the male form. The trim waist and slim hips, strong legs and back, and those broad shoulders. I sat in the bed transfixed. I have to admit I stared openly and longingly at his well-shaped buttocks. However, when he turned to face me and I saw his John Thomas fully engorged, pointing towards me and bobbling slightly, I was so shocked, I screamed. Not so loud as to alert the neighbours, but loud enough to make Edward's steps falter. He rushed to the bed and tried to console me, but I couldn't take my eyes from his tallywacker. It was massive, dark red at the end and hairy at the base. Edward had to take hold of my shoulders and shake me to get my attention. Of course the motion of him shaking me made his whanger wave about. I was afraid to blink and that little hole at the end, it was as if it were looking back at me.

I calmed enough to stop screaming and looked at my husband's face. He asked after my condition, if I was all right, if there was anything troubling me. I pointed to his staff and said, "that, that thing is bothering me".

Edward looked down at his pride and joy and blushed beetroot red. "Oh Bella." He tried to calm me more, but failed miserably. "It is supposed to look like that. I won't hurt you, darling. But we are married. We are supposed to, to … um … be together."

He tried to distract me with a soft kiss but I wasn't having any of it.

"You are not coming anywhere near me with that thing. I don't give a tinker's dam what we are supposed to do, but I'm not doing anything with that."

Dear, dear diary, my ever patient husband kissed me and held me, soothed my nerves and gently ignited a fire within me through his caresses. It was a slow burning fire for it took a few weeks until I enjoyed the act. And then a few more weeks until I really, really enjoyed it almost as much as Edward seemed to enjoy it. Don't get me wrong, I didn't hate it. I really enjoyed feeling and seeing Edward reach the pinnacle of human pleasure and I took some pleasure in the lead up, but not the act itself. We tried a few things to increase my pleasure. All manner of positions and locations for our lovemaking was tried, to the point I needed a few days from it to recuperate. It was then we discovered pleasuring each other with our mouths and hands as well as our...parts. At first I found the idea repulsive but Edward convinced me to try. While I find the taste foul, the control I have over his pleasure is a heady thing and I find I really like that. In fact, I found I could make him succumb to his ecstasy much faster if I use a little goose grease and slip my little finger up his …

 _The book slammed shut with a clap as the reader dropped it, not quite flinging it to the floor._

 _"Mum, Mum? I found Great-Granny's diary!"_

 _"Oh good. She was quite the fine lady. I'd love to read it. You're named after her, you know that right, Bella?_

 **AN: I believe you should be reading hikingurl, sukiethree and lizziepaige.**


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